


Forgiveness Takes Three

by aunt_zelda



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Community: hannibalkink, Knifeplay, M/M, Murder Family, Season Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-26 09:10:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1682888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aunt_zelda/pseuds/aunt_zelda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SPOILERS FOR MIZUMONO</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p> </p><p>Will tells Hannibal the truth. Hannibal's still got his knife. Abigail is still standing there. What could have happened instead?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forgiveness Takes Three

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this kink meme prompt on the Hannibal Kink meme: http://hannibalkink.dreamwidth.org/3819.html?thread=7120875
> 
>  
> 
> _After Hannibal says "We couldn't leave without you", Will admits his plan was for Hannibal to leave before Jack even arrived because he couldn't bear to see Hannibal in prison. He also admits he didn't kill Freddie- basically revealing the whole "I was a double agent for the FBI" thing. Hannibal doesn't stab him, forgives him, and the three of them leave for France. Happy Murder Family fix fic, basically._
> 
>  
> 
> Some dialogue lifted from the episode itself.

Abigail.

Abigail is alive. 

Will lowers the gun, hands shaking slightly. The gun slips in his fingers but it does not fall, not yet. 

“I didn’t know what else to do so, I just did what he told me.” She’s shaking, crying. 

“Where is he?” Will’s voice is dry.

Abigail just stares. Over his shoulder. Of course. _Get thee behind me Satan._

“You were supposed … to leave.” Will says, turning slowly, no sudden movements, to face Hannibal. Hannibal is bloodied, some his own, some Jack’s. 

“We couldn’t leave without you.” Hannibal says simply.

Will feels himself beginning to crumple from the inside. He stares at Hannibal. Distantly he feels tears on his face. 

They stare at each other for a long moment. It feels much longer than it actually is, seconds have gone by in reality.

Hannibal reaches forward, cups Will’s face in his hand. Will keeps staring, doesn’t dare hope for anything.

“Freddie Lounds …” Hannibal says, casually, carefully.

Will closes his eyes in shame.

“No, do not hide from me, Will.” Hannibal growls, a hint of danger in his tone. He is not yelling, his voice is barely above a whisper.

Will forces himself to open his eyes. “I didn’t kill her.”

Hannibal nods. “I know. Tell me more.”

“Jack … the FBI … tried to … to catch you …” Will begins to shake. Hannibal holds him up with his other hand, supports him as his knees begin to give out. 

“Why did you warn me?” Hannibal asks. “Did your plans change, Will?”

“Yes.” Will breathes out, crying now, sobbing, body wracked with sobs. “I wanted you to leave, before Jack … the FBI … didn’t want you to … go to prison …”

He should. He should want Hannibal locked away forever. Hannibal, who has killed and eaten so many people, not just the rude, the innocent, the good, the just. Hannibal, who framed Will and locked him away for months, let him go on trial for murder. Hannibal, who sent Randall Tier after Will and Will’s dogs. 

Hannibal, who punished Mason Verger so thoroughly. 

Hannibal, who waited for him.

Hannibal, who has given Abigail back to him.

Will is shuddering violently now, sobbing, unintelligible, trying desperately to tell Hannibal how sorry he is.

“Shhhhh, Will, shhhhhhh.” Hannibal has sunk onto the floor with him, is leaning against the wall and wrapping his arms around Will, cradling him close. “Time did reverse. The teacup that I shattered did come together. A place was made for Abigail in your world.”

Will shudders, pressing his face against Hannibal’s shoulder. Abigail will live, then. Abigail will live and he shall die. It seems a fair trade, his life for hers. She comes back into the world; he leaves it. The space he leaves can be filled by her.

“You understand?”

Will nods, tries desperately to stop crying. He hopes that it is quick. He hopes that Hannibal hasn’t killed Jack yet, that Jack will live, and Alana too, and Will is the only one who is going to die. 

“A place was made for all of us … together.”

Will freezes. He didn’t understand, after all.

After a breath, Will straightens up. He looks at Hannibal’s face, at his hands, but there is no murderous glint, no knife, no gun. 

“I wanted to surprise you,” Hannibal smiles. “And you … I suppose you wanted to surprise me.”

Will doesn’t know what to say. 

“I let you know me. _See me._ I gave you a rare gift.” And there is the knife now, in his hand, teasing against the exposed skin of Will’s neck. “But you didn’t want it.”

“Didn’t I?” Will’s forehead creases. He did. He did want it. He hates himself but he did want that life with Hannibal. Someone who wouldn’t fear his darkness, his sight, who would help him learn to live in the dark, embrace it, instead of fear it and try to subdue it. 

“You would deny me my life.” Hannibal glances back at the pantry door, the blood seeping out from underneath it. _Jack’s blood._

“No, no … not your life … not …” Will feels the knife scratch at his skin, feels it slip down to hover over his heart, tearing the fabric of his shirt. 

“My freedom, then, you would take that from me. Confine me to a prison cell.” Hannibal presses the knife slightly, breaking skin. “Did you believe you could change me? The way I’ve changed you?”

“I … I already did.” Will manages a smile now, terrified though he is, trapped though he is, with Hannibal’s left hand grasping him by the hair and the right keeping a knife pressed against him. 

“Fate and circumstance have returned us to this moment. The teacup shatters.” Hannibal presses the knife deeper. Will is in pain now. “I forgive you Will.”

Hannibal kisses him. 

Will moans, leans into the kiss, but as it deepens Hannibal pulls away, and Will doesn’t have the strength to pursue him.

“Will you forgive me?” Hannibal asks.

Hannibal looks so wounded, despite Will being the one with a knife stuck into him. Hannibal is crying too, a few tears, and Will has no reason to doubt them. He’s about to die. Hannibal would not lie to a dying man. That would be … rude. 

“Yes.” Will nods, grips at Hannibal’s shoulders with shaking hands. “Yes. Please …”

“Abigail, come here,” Hannibal calls to her, never taking his eyes off of Will.

Oh god. Is Abigail going to be the one to do this? Will she kill him, like she could never kill her father? Has he become Garrett Jacob Hobbs again?

“What do you think, Abigail?” Hannibal asks, withdrawing the knife and handing it to her. 

Abigail takes the knife. Her hands are steady, even if she is crying. She looks from Hannibal to Will and back again.

Will whimpers, leans against Hannibal, dizzy from pain and fear. He just wants this to be over. Abigail, Hannibal, he doesn’t care now. He wants this finished.

“You can make it all go away,” Hannibal whispers into his ear. “Put your head back. Close your eyes …”

Will does as he is told. He remembers their old therapy sessions, the flickering lights and Hannibal’s words. 

“… wade into the quiet of the stream …”

The pendulum swings, the sound goes out, and everything is darkness. 

~*~

Will wakes in the backseat of a car. Streetlamps are flashing by, flickering across his face. He stirs, trying to get his face out of the light. 

He’s in new clothes, dry ones, and the uncomfortable sensation of dried blood is nowhere on his skin. 

“He’s awake, Hannibal,” Abigail says.

Will looks around. Abigail is in the passenger’s seat. Her pale face looks pinched with worry, but she is otherwise fine. Hannibal is driving. He glances back at Will briefly, smiles, and returns his gaze to the road.

“We’re twenty minutes from the airport, Will. Our flight leaves in about two hours. As I have obtained false identification for the three of us, once the police have sent out notices for our arrest, the airport will not make the connection before it is too late. We will be out of the country and safe by morning.”

Will blinks. “Oh.”

“A place has been made for us.” Hannibal repeats, in case Will had forgotten. 

“Yes.” Will thinks, forlornly, of his dogs. He never got to say goodbye to them properly. Alana will look after them. If she’s alive. 

Will swallows his guilt and puts them from his mind. There will be stray dogs in … wherever they’re going. Dogs who need him. Dogs he can help. His dogs are good dogs. After the incident with Randall Tier, he drafted a legal document, in case he should be incarcerated again or vanish, leaving his house and dogs to Alana, or Peter Bernardone, depending on who was able to care for them at the time. His dogs will be fine, they will not be sent to the pound and put down after a few months. 

Abigail is fixing a ribbon-like necklace around her neck, to hide the identifying scar. Hannibal is not dressed in a suit, but jeans and a ski jacket. Abigail finishes with her necklace and snaps on latex gloves. She begins working a dark dye through Hannibal’s hair, combing it in and covering every patch of blond.

Will watches, thoughts of his dogs becoming gradually replaced with thoughts of his new life.

“What about me?” Will asks, throat dry. He coughs, shaking himself. He’s wearing casual clothing, spares, he realized, that he left at Hannibal’s house once. 

Abigail rummages in a bag at her feet, and reaches back. She hands him a battery-powered razor. 

“Your hair will grow back.” Hannibal says, turning off the highway and going down the airport exit. 

Will begins to shave his head. Abigail twists in her seat and holds up a small hand mirror to help him get all the spots. 

By the time they’ve parked the car and collected their three small carry-on bags, they look utterly different. Will is bald, his mustache is gone, and the bandana on his head suggests cancer. No one will want to stare at him too long, or appear to be scrutinizing him. 

Hannibal, black haired and dressed so unlike himself, resembles a European returning home to ski. He affects a limp as they begin to approach the airport, and somehow makes himself seem much smaller than his usual tower height suggests. 

Abigail cut off her hair in the car; now it hangs raggedly around her chin. Her jeans are skinny and ripped, and her blouse and jacket are covered in insignias for bands Will has never heard of. The ribbon choker doesn’t look out of place at all, nor does the dark makeup she spent the last five minutes applying. 

They are traveling together, Mr. Dante the Frenchman, Mr. Gagnon his partner who has been in the US for treatment, and their daughter Mischa who has enjoyed her American vacation very much. They purchase books while they wait for the boarding call, and sit side by side on the plane in a row of three. 

Their flight is smooth, and they land easily in France. They leave the airport with their bags. Mr. Dante hails a cab, and they vanish.


End file.
